


Eyes

by DontSaveTheHero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Murder, Beginnings of a relationship, Blinded!Crowley, Bobby is concerned, But he'll be fine, M/M, and he isn't sure why, they're not really together yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontSaveTheHero/pseuds/DontSaveTheHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Any reason you decided to show up at my house?"<br/>If Crowley still had eyes, he'd be rolling them.</p><p>Startled awake by an intruder in his home, Bobby discovers an injured Crowley in need of assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes

An avalanche of books scattering across the floor jerked Bobby awake from an unintentional nap on his couch. Knocking a book onto the floor himself as he pulled his body into a sitting position, a stream of grumbled, half-formed swears died on his lips. A kneeling figure had its backed turned to the hunter, a familiar though unwelcome shape in Bobby's living room.

Bobby's hand ghosted over the gun nearest to him, uncertain of what was happening. "Crowley?" he asked in disbelief.

"Ah, Singer," the form replied, voice low and strangled, "my apologies for the mess."

Bobby lifted himself off of the couch and took a few hesitant steps toward the demon, unsure of how to go about things. If he didn't know better, he'd say Crowley was in a great deal of pain. It would serve him right, but it was still odd that he would show up here, of all places.

"What the hell happened?" Crowley almost seemed to flinch at Bobby's words.

He didn't reply at first, his hands keeping a vice like grip on Bobby's innocent side table. His head was still bowed, facing away from Bobby, almost as if in prayer.

"It seems I've made a minor tactical error," Crowley finally said. His very voice sounded damaged, as if whatever was causing him pain had dealt a great blow to his throat in particular.

"If this is some sorta sick joke, it ain't funny," Bobby said, still standing a few safe steps away.

"I wish it was, Singer," Crowley said, pulling his own hand away from the table with apparent difficulty. He covered his face with his arm, whole body tense, and turned himself around.

There still wasn't anything wrong with him, as far as Bobby could tell, and that somehow made the hunter even more concerned, though not so much for himself.

"You gonna be more specific?" Bobby said, reaching out a hand to grasp Crowley's arm. He figured that if whatever was causing the demon pain was physical, it must be that that the demon was hiding behind his sleeve. He stopped just an inch away, the thought of the pain being spread by touch occurring to him.

"You can't catch it, or I wouldn't have come," Crowley said, as if welcoming the hunter to move his arm, though he didn't make any move to complete the action himself.

Bobby paused for one more moment, braced himself, and then tugged at the demon's arm until the limb allowed itself to be pulled away. Bobby struggled to keep his cuss words to himself, not wanting to upset the demon. The sight wasn't a pretty one.

The demon's eyes had been burned right of of their sockets, leaving behind a blistered, bloody mess. Crowley's entire face was red, a combination of fresh blood and burns covering it. The sight seemed oddly familiar.

"'Angel do this to you?" Bobby whispered, curiosity and concern among the strange mixture of emotions he was now sorting through.

"Always the expert, aren't you?" Crowley's lips twitched despite his current condition.

“Who's feathery ass did you piss off with your flowery personality?” Bobby could imagine any number of the heavenly crowd who would be more than pleased to wipe Crowley off the face of the Earth, or any other place the demon could worm himself into. There were considerably less angels he could imagine having the balls or the patience to attempt it.

“Wish I knew,” and even with the mostly-ruined voice box, the dangerous tone that indicated a want for revenge was clear, “but the bloody insects caught me by surprise, and if I didn't want to rip out their throats and hand them over to the hounds, I'd shake their hands for such a feat. As it is, I'm not quite up to either, at the moment.”

Bobby's eyes narrowed. “Why ain't you dead?” It was oddly comforting that the demon was alive, though the hunter hadn't the slightest idea why.

Crowley almost laughed, but it came out as a choking cough. “If it was that easy to kill me, I wouldn't have survived the endless fights over Hell's throne. I've also a considerable amount of knowledge on the subject of magic, something I'm always ready to put to good use.”

“But you haven't got anything that'll help with what'cha been left with.” Bobby wondered if there was anything in one of the books the demon had toppled over that would provide aid for damage caused by a smiting.

“Obviously.”

“Any reason you decided to show up at _my_ house?”

If Crowley still had eyes, he'd be rolling them. “Those boys of yours would be more than pleased to take advantage of me in this state, and any demon would be quick to hide me away where I'd never be seen again. Neither would likely be capable of ending me for good.”

“You're expecting me to help _you?”_ Bobby must be imagining things. Maybe he's still asleep, knocked out by the questionable liquor he should've just tossed out.

“Oh, come on. Bobby. We've shared a few drinks, exchanged a few deals. If I can't trust you, I can't trust anyone.”

“You can't trust anyone, you're you.”

Crowley's voice lost its mocking tone altogether, becoming gentler. “Please.” Bobby would have described the voice as pleading, though never to Crowley's face- well, yes, he would, but not in this situation. Later, maybe, when Crowley was better.

“Alright, fine. Let's hit the books, see if we can find something that'll fix you up.

 

 

 

“You should invest in some better quality alcohol. I don't even know what this _is,_ and seeing as I can't even read the bloody label, I'm not sure if I want to be drinking it.”

“Stop complaining.”

“You've adapted to tolerate this stuff; I haven't.”

“Well, clearly the spell's working; you haven't shut your trap since yesterday. Ain't sure if that's a _good_ thing.”

Crowley adjusted the dark glasses he was not yet accustomed to. He turned his head and smirked at where he suspected the grumpy hunter was. His ability to function without the gift of sight was improving at a rapid pace, likely due to his inhuman nature.

“If you wanna bottle of Craig so bad,” Bobby continued, “why don't you just snap up a bottle? Surely you've got enough demon magic to do _that_.”

“Would if I could, Singer,” Crowley's voice was wistful, “but all the power I had was used to prevent my own murder, and to get myself here. It'll take a few months before I even begin to recover some of it.”

For a moment, Bobby was almost touched. “You showed up in my home trusting me enough that you were totally defenseless?” He'd known Crowley was badly injured, of course, but he didn't realize that Crowley left himself _completely_ powerless by enlisting his help.

“What can I say? You were my only hope.” Crowley's voice was teasing again.

“Don't go all Star Wars on me, idjit,” Bobby rolled his eyes, though Crowley would have no way of knowing. The hunter leaned over another book on Angel mythology, his finger ready to flip to the next page, when something finally clicked in his head.

“ _A few months?”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a few months ago and forgot to publish it. Feedback of any kind is really cool, whether it's down in the comments section or over at punkgabriel.tumblr.com.


End file.
